All signs point to the fact that I am- definitely- carrying a boy: I’ve got a basketball-like belly, I seem to be gaining weight differently (THANKS, random passersby!), and I’ve been having nonstop dreams about my son.
Except.
I’m pretty sure most 35 week bellies are round.
My weight gain is directly proportional to the fact that I couldn’t keep anything down until 21 weeks. (If I weren’t pregnant, I’d tout it as the best diet/cleanse of my entire life.)
And I only had “boy” dreams for the duration of my pregnancies with both Nora and Susannah as well. So obviously, I’m an expert on the ol’ Mother’s Intuition front.
Which means that I’m obviously having a girl.
Unless I’m not.
Keely and her sons. Obviously.
Because this little Roo- the one who revels in late-night back arches which leave me breathless (as well as rib-less and hip bone-less)- has the sort of physical prowess which is usually attributed to little boys on jungle gyms. You know, the kind that Susannah has.
Susannah, who still happens to be a girl.
So it’s a girl. For sure. But a larger one, because this baby- as opposed to my other two who measured in the 5th to 10th percentile throughout their gestational periods- is already coming in at a whopping 80th percentile.
Meaning, boy. ‘Cause everyone knows that boy babies are bigger.
But so are third babies.
Meaning it could totally be a girl.
I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out which of the ol’ 50/50 chances it is. (You know, like we planned on doing back at 20 weeks?)
Want to weigh in with weight and height and, you know, gender? Winner gets a totally awesome prize. Of bloggy recognition. Specifically, here. And the dubious honor of being more in tune with my offspring than their parents could ever claim.
It’s like winning the lottery, only way more gratifying.
One at a time, folks, one at a time. I’ll just wait here. Thinking and guessing about my unborn child. Most likely incorrectly.
For the third time.
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